The frustration of yesterday has given way to a certain euphoria. We can do it and we will do it. Our original plan to drive into the area from which we could drive the engine to our destination was pulverized by the Atlantic waves. We can only motor the last few miles, the waves are too big and the countercurrent too strong.
But now we are using the resources we have in a much more efficient way. We read the weather map more closely and use the wind turner in our favor. That moves us forward. Not as fast as we would have expected, but much faster than if we were driving the engine.
First we drive north for six hours, the wind prevents us from taking a direct course to Aruba. Shortly before dinner, the expected wind shift arrives. For the next twelve hours, it enables us to set a direct course towards our goal. When the wind turns back, we head north again. And so on ... We actually wanted to have arrived today, that was wishful thinking on our part. We completely underestimated the countercurrent. Now we've learned how to deal with it.
During my evening watch I watch two films, this time we are spared from storms. A strange noise distracts me from the cinema, next to me a flying fish wriggles in the cockpit. I put it back into its actual element as quickly as possible, so it can fidget as much as it wants.
At half past one a flickering light distracts me from my third film. The dimmer in the salon couldn't take all the salt water. Even though the lamp is switched off, it flickers cheerfully. I get the tool and remove the dimmer. The water raged terribly. The dimmer is cleaned with fresh water and drained.
The morning wind shift comes two hours earlier than expected. Jens drives a turn, I'm thrown around in the bunk. We're going north again, that improves the angle to Aruba. The day before yesterday we had an angle of 120 °, now we are at an angle of 135 °. When we get to 150 ° we can sail it directly. Then we are largely independent of the windmakers. The only downer is that we still have to travel 150 miles as the crow flies. Our Etmal is 83 miles.